


Of Falcons and Doves

by arrslanaltan (alhazard)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Rocket Angel Week, i don't know how to use ao3 tags yet rip me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alhazard/pseuds/arrslanaltan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts done for Rocket Angel Week 2016, and my first Overwatch works ever. Prompts include "Old Times", "Restoration", "Broken Wings", "Family", "Private Work Affair", "Closeness", and an additional circus AU for the final prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was essentially my "warm-up fic", being my first time writing for Overwatch and by default the first time testing out Angela's voice.

 

It was amazing how completely and utterly _useless_ alarm clocks were when one stayed up until four in the morning.

Angela had given an honest effort to start going to sleep at reasonable times, she really had. The moment she had graduated med school, she vowed to herself that she'd keep a sleep schedule that didn't involve her afternoons becoming mornings. She had done well for herself during her time at the Zürich Hospital mostly due to her early shifts. Now, a month into her time at Overwatch, she was finally falling back into the old habit of lying to herself about reading "one more paper".

It made sense that the emergency siren itself was the only thing that could stir her awake.

A strangled yell of surprise left her lips as she bolted upright at her work station, sending papers scattering across the floor and her chair careening backwards as well. Angela barely managed to save herself from the fall by taking the desk before her in a death grip. She waited a few moments until her heartbeat slowed to a reasonable pace before letting go. Blue eyes flitted over the time on one of her many clocks, 1645 hrs. A deep breath followed by a sigh. That was certainly one way to start the day.

The young doctor rose from her chair, kicking the research notes that she had dropped into a neat-enough looking pile. She'd sort through them later; it wasn't as if Angela Ziegler's thought process past midnight made much sense to anyone during the day (even herself). This wasn't the first time the alarm had sounded in her fledgling time at Overwatch, and as such her response was anything but urgent. Strike Commander Morrison and Captain Amari had both agreed that she was too "inexperienced" to put in the field, and resolved to essentially keep her on the sidelines until they could figure out some way to integrate the prodigy's technology and medical prowess into their team. Angela saw no issue with their decision. Being one of the few pacifists of the organization, she was content to spend her time better researching how to save lives instead of helping those taking them.

That was an issue for another day, though. Blaring alarm first, moral quandaries later.

She crossed the med bay while stifling back a yawn, typing in a preset code to to unlock the enormous sliding doors. Bright afternoon light flooded in from the nearby windows, unwelcome to Angela's unconditioned eyes. She cringed back in response. The beginnings of a horrid headache surfaced just behind her eyes, promptly reminding herself why twelve hours straight of sleep was highly inadvisable. She had even told as much to one of her fellow recruits visiting a day earlier for a routine checkup. Would she ever take her own advice?

Knowing the answer to such a question, Angela decided to "grin and bear it", as the German crusader Wilhelm would say far too often. Or simply just bear it, at the very least. It wasn't long before heavy footsteps and the clinking of spurs clued her in on the fact that she wasn't the only one having a bad day.

Jesse McCree, a Blackwatch recruit Angela had spent much of her orientation and training with, came storming down the hall from the opposite direction. He looked like a child scorned, eyebrows furrowed just under the brim of his signature hat and the corner of his lip twitching wildly. Spasms due to withdrawal, she noted astutely. He hadn't been taking well to Captain Reyes's insistent tobacco ban. She'd see if he could find him some sort of nicotine patch within the week.

" _Morgen_ , Jesse. You, ah, seem a bit..." she paused, considering her word choice carefully. He seemed to be beside himself in anger, and the last thing she wanted to do was worsen his mood. She liked Jesse; they had bonded over small talks and jokes cracked at the expense of their teachers during orientation.

"Angry enough to spit nails? Fit to be tied? Mad as a hornet? You're damn straight I am!" He spat on the floor as if to emphasize his point.

Angela didn't even ask about the strange idioms. She was a quick learner, and had found out early on that it was much easier to guess than to ask Jesse to explain. "What's wrong?" 

"They benched me! Again!" He was fuming at this point. If Angela didn't know better, she'd have sworn steam would come out of his ears at any moment. "Reyes says he still doesn't trust me to have his six. Says I still need more mentorin' or some shit. If I knew working for Blackwatch was gonna involve me borin' myself to death, I'd've just gone straight to lock-up instead."

"Jesse, you're _seventeen_. I think you can see why Captain Reyes would have doubts about putting you into the field." Angela tried to reason with him, but he seemed to be set in his mood.

"Sure didn't stop him from clockin’ me in the nose back in Arizona," he grumbled, crossing his arms in petty frustration when the alarm finally shut off. The strike team was assembled and on their way.

Her ears continued to ring even as the siren cut out. The headache only seemed to grow, and Angela began to suspect it was due to her caffeine addiction being neglected. She didn't like seeing Jesse in such a mood, and not just because it meant he might light up a cigar again. There had to be something that could both of their minds off things. "If it makes you feel any better, we can have some coffee together." Jesse gave her a confused tilt of the head, glancing down at his watch and back at the doctor. Angela shrugged, admitting to her questionable hours of activity. "The siren just woke me up."

Jesse shrugged in response, and she gestured for him to step inside the med bay. It wasn't as if either of them had anything better to do with the strike team gone, she reasoned as he moved past her.

It was only when Angela turned to follow him inside that she noticed the figure in the corner of her eye, and only when she felt something press against the small of her back that she felt the proper panic set in.

"Don't. Move."

Every muscle the blonde froze on instinct and she cursed the fact that she was just out of Jesse's line of sight. She couldn't yell for help, lest the object in her back proved to be lethal. The doctor swore quietly under her breath. The alarm must have been a ruse in order to get the strike team out of the base. Now, whoever this _person_ was behind her was going to sweep through. Her breath caught in her throat as the point of the assumed weapon pushed further into her spine.

After what seems like ages, Jesse peered back around the corner of the door frame at her, eyebrows raised at her predicament. Wasn't he going to do something?! Was he just going to sit there and--

"Kid, what are you doin' to Angie?"

A frown of confusion crossed Angela's face. _Kid? The person behind me is...?_ Sure enough, a glance over her shoulder proved that her captor was noting more than a teenage girl. The young doctor let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, turning to face the newcomer.

Dark brown eyes beamed up at her, turned upwards in the presence of a mischievous grin. "I got you, Doctor. Were you scared?" Pride was practically rolling off of her in waves, but Angela merely stared back in utter confusion. She had never seen the kid before, but there was a strange familiarity about her that she couldn't quite place. The girl grinned back at her all the while as Jesse approached, a look of worry crossing his face.

"Where's your mother, Fareeha? God knows she'd blow a gasket if she found out you were runnin' around unsupervised again."

"Fareeha?" Angela interrupted, feeling as if she should know the name.

Jesse nodded, moving past her in order to use Fareeha's head as an armrest. "Yeah. This is the captain's kid. You didn't know?"

"I knew she had a daughter, but had I assumed she was back home in Egypt." Ana hadn't talked much in the way of specifics about her family life, after all. The entirety of Overwatch knew her as "mama bear" of the group, but she had always seemed to go silent when it came to her blood relations. Angela had always assumed she wanted to keep the two distinctly separate.

"Most of the time she is. Cap's brought her to visit a couple of times. Not that you'd know, boardin' up in your medbay all the time. Really need to get out more, Angie," Jesse teased, his grin widening even when she promptly pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"You can stop talking over me while I'm right here, you know." Fareeha huffed up at them with crossed arms, apparently annoyed that she wasn't a part of the conversation anymore.

Jesse chuckled in response, a relieving sound to Angela considering he had been yelling in a rage only a few minutes before. "Sorry, _chica_. You're so short I don't even realize you're there sometimes, y'know?"

"I haven't had my growth spurt yet! Mom says I could end up being taller than her someday. I could even be taller than you!" Fareeha threatened, waving a small fist around under Jesse's jaw. The cowboy scoffed, rolling his eyes at her and waving off the threat. The young Amari's eyes lit up with the unmistakable realization of a comeback. "I'm going to shoot up and steal your doctor girlfriend just for that, you just watch."

"She's not my--" Jesse sported a full-on scowl as Fareeha smirked back at him. Angela quickly covered her mouth to hide her muffled giggling. She knew full well that she was getting under his skin, and after a few moments of glaring he gave up with a frustrated sigh. 

"Did the Captain go on the mission?" Deciding to intervene, the doctor bent down slightly so she could match the Amari's height as she asked her question.

Fareeha simply shrugged, and Angela got the feeling that this happened far too often. "She said she had an emergency. She told me to stay put." She didn't seem at all put off by the fact that her mother had run off, taking it all in stride. This was definitely a regular occurrence, Angela decided.

"Look like you screwed up royally on that order, kiddo." Jesse sighed, scratching the stubble on his chin in thought. He shrugged, as if giving in to the situation, and turned to his fellow recruit once more. "Well, looks like Cap accidentally put us on babysitting duty. Ain't that swell?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of Angela's mouth, and she turned to nod at Fareeha. "We should be fine. I think the two of us can definitely manage watching after _you_ for a few hours, Jesse." 


	2. Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela Ziegler has cheated death time and time again, but she assumed far too early a victory. Her hubris got the better of her; she thought she could even defeat the inevitable. Physical death was easy to defeat. She learns the hard way that emotional death is not.

The moment Angela felt a pair of hands close around her neck was (thankfully) the exact moment her eyes shot open. Dark hair hung in her face, brown eyes so filled with rage that they were nearly luminous in the dingy lighting of her personal quarters. She prayed, pleaded, begged she was having a nightmare.

Just like always, it was all too terribly real.

Fareeha’s fingers clenched the moment their gazes met, baring her teeth at the doctor beneath her. “You…” A guttural snarl, one more suited to that of a feral animal than the Amari she knew and loved. Angela felt a stabbing pain in her chest unrelated to her diminishing ability to inhale. Her mind drifted to only hours before, when that very same voice had been used in between broken sobs and endless apologies. It was softer then, fearful. It was still not the voice she knew, but closer to it than the one poisoned with complete and utter hatred for Doctor Angela Ziegler and Doctor Ziegler alone.

“You left me to fucking _die_ , Angela!" 

No, this voice was hard, hoarse, and speaking with words Fareeha Amari herself never would. Angela knew this; she knew this all too well and yet she couldn’t help the guilt that washed over her, the utter shame. Guilt due to the fact that she knew there was truth in such words.

It was her fault. It was her punishment. It was her burden.

That didn’t make it any less easy to bear.

 _You knew this would happen. You know the routine_. Tears brimmed at the edges of the doctor’s eyes, blurring the face before her into anonymity as she tried to hold them back. She couldn’t see the woman before her, and she thought it might have been for the best. She couldn’t bring herself to fight the death grip on her throat, merely laying her hands on the Lichtenburg figures that wound up the Egyptian’s forearms. Hellish reminders. Reminders of the damage had been done and reminders of how Angela had allowed it all to happen. Fareeha remained unaffected, an uncontrollable rage driving her forwards. A part of Angela’s mind cried out that she would lose consciousness soon if she did not take action.

"You _gave up_ on me!”

 _You’ve failed again. You have to put her down._ Oh, but she was so tired. She was tired of hearing Fareeha howl and scream in both her nightmares and her conscious states. She was tired of hearing proof of how she had not only failed to save Fareeha once, but had failed to save her time and time again. She was tired of seeing Fareeha’s broken form, hanging from a Talon agent’s arms as Jack hauled the doctor in the opposite direction. She was tired of winning Fareeha back only to lose her over and over again to the person before her now.

She was so tired. She wondered for a moment if it would be better to just give in, give up. 

_“Angela, you can’t fix this.”  
_

_Yes I can._

_“Angie, love, we’ve seen this before.”  
_

_This is different._

_“She’s too far gone, Angie. You gotta let her go.”  
_

_She can come back._

_“You’re going to get yourself killed, Angela.”  
_

_Too late, Ana._

Black slowly creeping into the edges of her vision, Angela’s body gave in to action. Adrenaline and instinct fueled her as she used one hand to press against Fareeha’s cheek, moving her head to the side as the latter of the two continued to yell and curse the former in every language she knew. Retrieving the gun from underneath her pillow with the other hand was becoming a reflexive action, as was taking the shot.

“You never even loved me-” A choked sentence, ended as soon as the tranquilizer dart pierced her shoulder. Fareeha seized up, fingers futilely scraping against against the newly-formed bruises on Angela’s neck as the serum coursed through her bloodstream. An entire spectrum of emotion passed through her gaze all at once. She was there. For that brief second, she was really there, like she always was. Then, she collapsed on top of the Swiss doctor, unconscious.

A week. So far, that was the longest they had been able to keep her grounded. Angela thought she had become numb to the repeated words that had been fed into the Egyptian’s mind, but Fareeha’s last phrase was new and it was devastating. The doctor couldn’t even bring herself to move, grasping at her temples as tears began to break through once more. _It’s not her_ , she reminded herself, _they gave her their own words_. 

 _Progress, Angela, we’re making progress_. The period in which she was able to bring back the woman she once knew as Fareeha Amari, her own wife, was growing longer each time. That didn’t stop the agony of losing her over and over again, though. It never did, and it never would.

 

God, she was so tired.


	3. Broken Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha loses her wings, her career, and her mother all in the span of a month. In the midst of the chaos that is the Overwatch UN inquiry, Angela is the only one to notice.

Everything that happened after the explosion was a blur.

As textbook as it may have sounded, Fareeha couldn’t distinguish one moment from the next for what seemed like ages. She remembered throwing herself across the transport vehicle as soon as the word “explosives” had been shouted, shoulder braced to ram open the rear door. She remembered barking orders, taking hold of any man near her as best she could before she careened into the wall of the swerving truck instead. She remembered seeing fire erupt from the front of the vehicle.

The world went dark immediately after, only coming to light once more when her body made a jarring impact with the sand. Hell itself soon followed.

Gasping, heaving, coughing. She couldn’t move, couldn’t articulate words. All she could do was scream, and something as simple as shrieking was snatched by her inability to even _breathe_. Black and red filled her vision all at once. Ears ringing, she tried to grasp feebly at the sand underneath her fingers to ground herself. Her hands didn’t even twitch in response.

All her senses were failing her at once. Helpless. Hopeless. Was she dying? She was dying.

Turning her head took more effort than it should have. She couldn’t will her body to move fast enough, even when her eyes came to rest on the blood splattered around her. Someone was hurt? One of her platoon members? The driver? Her mind sluggishly cycled through the possibilities as she struggled to make reason of what had just happened. It was too hard to think, too hard to do anything. Blood. There’s blood.

_It’s mine_. _That’s my blood. That’s my arm over there._

When she could finally breathe, Fareeha laughed hysterically.

»»————————–

“Lieutenant Amari? Lieutenant, you have mail.”

Fareeha cringed at the title and voiced her protest in a groan, eyes flitting open. The corporal standing over her jumped, putting distance between them when she sat up and offering his superior a sharp salute. A blank look was given to him in return. Formalities were useless if she was just going to be discharged within the next week. Formalities had _been_ useless ever since the moment she had woken up from her anesthetics to see a paling doctor leaning over her, as if _she_ was in the wrong for even bothering to come back to consciousness again.

He held the gesture faithfully. She gave a stiff wave of one of her newly-acquired prosthetics, the way he stared at it leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.  She didn’t need to be reminded.

“The postmaster wanted to emphasize that it was urgent, ma'am. He suggested I have you open it as soon as it got to you.” The corporal seemed uncomfortable giving suggestions to a superior officer, squirming slightly even as he repeated instructions that weren’t his own. He moved to hand the letter to her, hesitating slightly at the robotic arm that moved towards him. Fareeha could feel her irritation growing stronger every second, and he seemed to noticed his mistake. He resolved to place the letter on her nightstand.

Fareeha looked him up and down, giving a terse nod and biting back the scorn that rested on the tip of her tongue. “Dismissed.”

He didn’t even bother to salute before making a quick exit.

Would it always be like this? Intrusive thoughts suggested it would have been better to just die in the sands of the Sahara. She did her best to block such notions from her mind, instead choosing to retrieve the message from where he had left it.

The letter was disheartening before she even opened it. “From the Offices of Overwatch Headquarters”, indeed. It had been almost a month since her injury. A goddamn month had passed, and she hadn’t been able to muster up the courage to tell her mother. The moment she had recovered enough from her shock to be fully responsive, the medical workers had informed her they were having trouble getting in touch with her emergency contacts. Horrified, Fareeha had told them to stop entirely.

She couldn’t possibly face her mother, the one who had been staunchly opposed to her military career in the first place. Her mother, who had succeeded all her life whereas Fareeha had only come close every time. Ana Amari had reached the rank of captain in Egypt’s security forces. Her daughter had barely reached the first lieutenant mark. Ana Amari had been a member of the founding Overwatch strike team. Her daughter was (with little doubt) about to open an invitation from an organization she couldn’t possibly join. Not anymore, at least.

Ana Amari had ended the Omnic Crisis. Her daughter was now half machine.

Fareeha fumbled with corners of the envelope, trying her best to get a good grip on the paper. Frustration welled within her at her inability to even perform a simple task, a feeling not uncommon ever since her prosthetics had been installed.  After a few moments of light cursing, she managed a slight tear that finally led to the grand opening.

Her heart sank at the official letterhead, decorated with the circular logo she had always dreamed of bearing on her own shoulder one day. A glimpse of Strike Commander Jack Morrison’s signature across the bottom nearly caused her to toss it away, but she steeled herself to keep on. She was already forming her polite rejection letter in her mind when she read the first few lines and her heart stopped.

_“1ST LT. FAREEHA AMARI,_

_It is with great regret and sorrow that I write to you to inform you of the death of your mother, Captain Ana Amari.”_

The explosion seemed to happen all over again. Fareeha felt as if she had been punched squarely in the gut, her breath shallow and quickening. All the words on the page turned to an unrecognizable and hazy jumble. Death. Mother. She was dead. She couldn’t be dead.

_How? Where? When?_ A small part of her mind urged her to read onward, to scan the message apparently penned by Morrison himself for details. Fareeha couldn’t bring herself to do so. Here she was again, a feeling all too familiar. Gasping, heaving, and coughing once more. Couldn’t move, couldn’t articulate words.

She couldn’t even laugh this time.

 

The nurses found her with the letter crumpled in a dented robotic palm, tears streaming down the shrapnel scars that were slowly healing on her face. She was helpless once again, a falcon with broken wings. Now, she had a broken spirit to match.

»»————————–

Dealing with a United Nations inquiry left little time for Commander Morrison and the rest of her mother’s old team to arrange a proper funeral. Fareeha gave many thanks to all of them for the comforting letters that followed the original death notification, as well as the money sent to pay for her airfare to the Switzerland Headquarters. With no body recovered, there had been no reason to hold the funeral at home in Giza. Her mother would have wanted to be remembered among her comrades, Fareeha had decided.

Not letting anyone know about her injuries was her first mistake. Commander Morrison met her in person when she arrived on base, and after a terse and formal reunion she confined herself to the room she was given. She spent more time hiding from the people she had known in her youth than among them, thoughts in the back of her mind suggesting that less attention drawn to her prosthetics could help her fool herself into believing they weren’t there.

The funeral itself was the only thing that drew her from her solitude. Her dress uniform had been helpful in covering up the damage that had been done, an addition of gloves hiding away all traces of trauma except for the fading scars on her cheeks and neck. Arriving at the “burial grounds” was easier than she had anticipated. No one expected Fareeha to be happy, and she finally didn’t have to pretend to be anything but miserable.

Of course, her outward appearance remained stoic, reserved. She had shed her tears for her mother back in the hospital, surrounded by strangers trying to sedate her in the the angrier stages of her grief. There was no reason to cause a scene by her mother’s grave. It wasn’t about Fareeha. It never was.

Countless agents with faces she couldn’t quite place gave their quiet condolences, each of them careful with their words and their lingering glances. Some came forward with a bit more familiarity than others. Morrison was awkward, offering as stiff an exchange as ever between fellow soldiers. Torbjorn Lindholm didn’t offer much more, if only for the fact it looked like he was about to bawl his eyes out. Reinhardt Wilhelm, her childhood idol, offered a hug with uncharacteristic restraint. She didn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, knowing full well how much Ana had meant to him.

The next agent was one she had trouble recalling until unforgettable blue eyes met her own.

Doctor Angela Ziegler had changed, that much was certain. The last time Fareeha had seen her blonde friend was almost a decade ago, when the former was eighteen and the latter just reaching twenty-three. She didn’t look old, per se, but it was unmistakable that the her years in Overwatch since then had taken their toll. The woman she used to remember as a seventeen-year-old prodigy, constantly staying up long hours into the night in excitement over new advances (yet garnering disapproval from the older Amari whenever she yelled out in triumph at three in the morning) was barely recognizable in who stood before her. 

Angie–ah, Dr. Ziegler, she supposed, had hardened herself. Her eyes were hardly as bright as they once had been. The bags underneath them were no longer from a reckless sleeping schedule, but more than likely from hours upon hours of questioning before the UN and Overwatch itself. 

She extended a hand none the less, offering a smile that, though sad, could still melt hearts. Fareeha shook it hesitantly, going stiff when the blonde doctor squeezed in what she assumed a sign of solidarity. “It’s good to see you again, even under these circumstances. Lieutenant, is it?”

“Former.” Fareeha couldn’t help the quick correction that left her lips out of habit. Though she could hide her prosthetics all she liked, there was no hiding the fact that she had been discharged. She had even told as much to Morrison, noting the weary nod and look of consideration he had given in response. _Don’t even bother, I’m more of a burden than an asset at this point,_ she had only just barely stopped herself from blurting out to him.

Dr. Ziegler gave a firm shake of her head, releasing the Egyptian’s hand as the latter of the two let out a breath she was not aware she had been holding. “That doesn’t change your rank. Or your commendation for distinguished service, as I’ve heard.” Fareeha noticed the slight twitch of her lip, as if holding the smile was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. “She would’ve been proud.”

It was hard to choke back the bitter laugh that rose in Fareeha’s throat as Dr. Ziegler moved to take her seat.

Captain Gabriel Reyes was the one attendee that said absolutely nothing. Reyes, the man who used to tease her good-naturedly in her youth, was hesitant to even offer a nod in her direction. No words, no contact, barely even spending seconds standing in front of her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that Overwatch was restless in the wake of their current trials.

A tension hung in the air unlike any she had ever felt before, making her mood all the worse. Reinhardt gave a stunning eulogy, one that brought many of the members to tears, but all Fareeha could think about was the utter hatred that had consumed Reyes’s gaze every time he and Morrison traded looks. The better half of the gathering could feel it, too, judging by the way everyone was careful to tiptoe around them following the ceremony. Though the two put an unsettling air about the funeral itself, Fareeha found herself thankful for the distraction from herself. 

Everyone put up a guarded front because of their tension, only giving brief goodbyes and occasional hugs to the deceased’s daughter before going on their way.

Everyone except for _her_. 

Fareeha caught a glimpse the Swiss doctor mingle at the edge of the dwindling crowd, trying her best not to make eye contact. Her brow was knit with worry every time she glanced up to meet the Egyptian’s eyes before quickly looking away. Fareeha tried her best to disregard the strange behavior. Maybe she looked too depressed. Maybe she looked too happy. Damned if she knew how she looked to other people. She could barely even figure out how she felt with the way she continually tried to detach herself from everything.

When the throng of agents finally cleared, the discharged soldier found herself face to face with Angela once more. 

“How did you lose them?”

Fareeha’s breath hitched in her throat as prying blue eyes finally locked with hers. She should have known Angela would be the one to notice. She had more than ample experience with robotics herself with Genji Shimada’s restoration now under her belt. More than likely, she had noticed the moment they had shook hands. The taller of the two women took a deep breath to steady herself, looking down at her own dress shoes to avoid meeting the blonde’s gaze. “It was a roadside IED,” she murmured under her breath at last, her hands clenching instinctively at the memories that threatened to resurface.

Angela said nothing, but Fareeha could practically feel the weight of her gaze. She was likely inspecting the scars there, too. Everyone at the ceremony had either been too preoccupied or polite to point them out, but there was little doubt the medic was now interested in every single one.

“How long ago?”

“A month. Roughly.”

A long silence passed between the two. Fareeha could practically feel the shame rolling off of herself in waves. Caught in the act, now with nothing to say for herself. She knew the inevitable question was coming, and so she turned to leave in hopes of avoiding it. It came none the less.

“Fareeha, why didn’t you tell us?”

_Us_. The soldier–the _former_ soldier–paused, the word choice halting her in her tracks. Not “her”, “us”. She really had fucked it all that up, hadn’t she? For the entire month she had spent in her hospital bed, all she could think about was her mother. How her mother would react, how her mother would scorn her, how her mother would tell her “I told you so”. Not once had she ever thought of her family, her Overwatch family. She hadn’t thought of them since the day she went to basic training. Had she really gotten so lost along the way?

The pain in Angela’s voice when she repeated the Amari’s name confirmed her fears, “Fareeha–”

“I was afraid.” A breathless admission left her lips at last as she turned to face her childhood friend once more. Noting that they were the only two left by the memorial dedicated to Overwatch’s second-in-command, she carefully removed her gloves to reveal busted circuits and dented plating spanning across her mechanical hands. Angela’s expression hardened and Fareeha could see realization dawn in her eyes. She didn’t wait for a scolding on how she couldn’t take her frustration out on her body (one that she had received many a time in her youth), and instead continued on. “My mother…my mother fought for our homeland. She fought to end the Omnic Crisis. She was a hero to Overwatch and a hero to the world.”

Angela looked like she desperately wanted to interject, but Fareeha knew she wouldn’t. The doctor knew her far too well. She was starting to open up for the first time about everything weighing on her soul, and for her own sake she needed to continue. She needed to finally face her burdens. She needed to stop running. “And what did I do? I fell short in every way I possibly could except for her expectations of failure. She told me not to join the army. She told me not to join Overwatch. I told her I wouldn’t listen. I told her it’s what I wanted. I thought that I could prove her wrong and follow in her footsteps. And now…" 

Her eyes burned with tears, but she was determined not to turn into a sniveling mess. Fareeha hated being seen in such a state, but she couldn’t help the words from tumbling out under her friend’s intent gaze, hanging on every word. "Now I…I can’t even get out of my goddamn _bed_ in the morning, Angela.” A small part of her almost balked at the use of a first name, but all formalities were set by the wayside at this point as the tears finally began to fall.

Angela had since taken to staring at the damaged prosthetics, her expression masked by the wisps of blonde hair that hung down over her face. Fareeha was glad for the distraction as the doctor ran her fingers across her dented palms, as it was much better than having her stare at the snot that was beginning to ungracefully drip from her nose. After several agonizing hearbeats, Angela sighed and finally raised her gaze to meet Fareeha’s own.

“Listen to me. Your mother loved you and was proud of you until the very end. She’d be proud of you even now, even like this. If you think that _these_ make you any less of a person, you’re wrong. Do you know what makes you who you are, Fareeha?” With a gentleness Fareeha had long since been unfamiliar with, Angela placed one hand on the Egyptian’s chest, pressing slightly against her dress uniform. She moved the other to her temple, using a thumb to wipe at the soldier’s tears. Fareeha watched her warily as best she could though her hazy vision, her own arms now pinned to her sides.

“You still have a pulse. You still have a will. You’re still here.”

As if suddenly sentient because it had been mentioned, Fareeha felt as if her heart might start beating out of her chest. She brushed at her face with the sleeve of her dress uniform, caring little for the fact that she’d certainly have to get it dry-cleaned after. “Is that your opinion as a physician, Doctor Ziegler?” A bitter response, one she immediately regretted.

For the first time that day, a genuine smile crossed her face, and it was blinding. “That’s my opinion as your friend, Fareeha.” The utter profoundness of her words almost caught her off guard. “You are not your mother, nor will you ever be, and I know that she is proud of you for that. You are not a machine, and you are not a failure. You’re Lieutenant Fareeha Amari, and you’re going to defy what you’ve been told and make your own way. It’s what you’ve always done, and it’s what you’ll always do.”

Before she knew it, Fareeha had surged forward, wrapping the doctor before her in a tight embrace. Angela stumbled backwards at first and nearly sent the pair straight to the ground. Embarrassed at her own forwardness, the Egyptian moved to pull away. Her apology died on her lips as the shorter woman took Fareeha into her arms as well, fingers curling into the back of her dress uniform. “It’s okay,” was all that she had to whisper to unhinge the Amari completely.

After a month of hardship and detachment, she finally, truly mourned. In the arms of Angela Ziegler, the broken soldier became a sobbing mess, and it felt right. As much as it hurt, as much as her heart ached, it was what she needed.  

“We’re here for you. _I’m_ here for you, Fareeha. Never forget that.”

And with Angela’s words and a letter from a ghost, the falcon learned to soar again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember that time that Blizzard told us that all of Fareeha’s limbs were real and not artificial? Yeah, me neither. (written with "Nothing Left to Say" on repeat in the background)


	4. Family & Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the potential family dynamic between Ana and Angela like I would love my firstborn honestly

Angela Ziegler had graduated medical school and become the youngest MD of her time. She had shattered records as the youngest head of surgery at a hospital. She had made countless publications and patents, each garnering international attention. With help, she had invented a combat suit and field device capable of turning the tide of battle and saving countless lives. Angela Ziegler had even discovered how to defy death itself.

That didn’t make the pounding in her chest as she knocked on the door labeled **“CAPT A. AMARI”** any less prominent. By the time the elderly sniper answered her call, Angela felt as if the organ was going to burst entirely. If she didn’t know any better as a medical doctor, she would’ve sworn she was on the brink of a heart attack as Ana happily gestured her inside.

It had been nearly two months since Ana Amari and the vigilante Soldier: 76 (later revealed to be Jack Morrison himself) had made themselves known to Overwatch. Two founding members returning from the dead had seemed too good to be true at the time, so much so that the two had spent some time in holding cells before Fareeha herself had come forward to confirm her mother’s identity. It was an understatement to say that the newly-reformed organization was shocked that the Egyptian had withheld information on her mother’s survival, but the newer member was indeed notorious for closing herself off to the other members.

Other members except for one person in particular.

Ana had settled in nicely, from what she could see. Gibraltar had never really been anything more than an auxiliary outpost to Overwatch at any point, and as such the rooms left much to be desired. Naturally, Ana’s austere tasted had no problem with accommodating. Her bed was made to military standards. Her locker was closed, but Angela suspected it was all arranged in perfect order. The corner of a photo poked out of one of the slits in the metal, no doubt of Fareeha. A smile settled on Angela’s face without her notice.

“You seem delighted today, Angela.”

The blonde snapped back to her senses with a bit of a start, earning a laugh from her old comrade as they both lowered themselves into chairs set at the small kitchen’s table. “As much of a daydreamer as ever. Thinking of some new way to cheat death?” The captain leaned forward, feigning secrecy and shielding her mouth with her hand as if people were watching. “If it’s something to do with anti-aging, you’d better let me be the first to try it out.”

Angela’s grin returned in full at the jest. She was seven years older and more scarred than ever, but she was still the same Ana Amari she had known for too long. Unfortunately, that didn’t make what she was about to ask any easier to articulate.

It had started out as innocent banter in the field. When Fareeha Amari had joined almost three years earlier, it was painfully apparent that she had grown used to working with a squad in the air. “Painfully” meaning her first few months had been spent more in the med bay recovering than out on missions. Tired of seeing Fareeha return from every assignment battered and bruised, Angela had suggested to Winston that she resume her combat medic role. He had wholeheartedly agreed.

Air support was exactly what Pharah had needed, and Mercy was happy to oblige. Though it took a few crashes and broken bones from both parties to truly ease into their team composition, in simply trying to minimize injuries in the field the two created a force to be reckoned with. Eager to capitalize on the power they had created, Fareeha had insisted that they start meeting after work hours to practice. Practice turned into strategy talks. Strategy talks turned into coffee “dates” (though Fareeha had initially rejected the use of the word). Coffee dates turned into late nights. Late nights turned into whispered affirmations of love in the med bay. The rest of the story could be told by the poor younger members of Overwatch who constantly dealt with the sickeningly sweet displays affection shown by the couple whenever near each other.

They had been dating for over a year and a half when Ana and Jack had returned.

Needless to say, there was a bit of bad blood between mother and daughter that had to be dealt with before they could even think about coming forward with their relationship. Ana may have let Fareeha know about her survival, but that didn’t forgive the fact that she distanced her daughter for seven years and returned with only the words “This isn’t what I wanted for you”.

Sorting through that had taken a month in itself. Once reconciled, Fareeha had been eager to reintroduce Angela to her mother as a girlfriend. The doctor had been less than much less enthusiastic.

Ana Amari had been a wonderful captain, friend, and mentor to Angela during her years in the old Overwatch. The Swiss doctor had the utmost respect for her, even if they did disagree on certain philosophical points involving war. She greatly admired the fact that Ana loved her daughter more than anything else in the world. It was the reason she and Fareeha were able to reconcile, and it was the same reason Angela had a hard time thinking about putting herself in between the two.

When Ana had returned, it was as if she had seen a whole new spectrum of emotion manifest itself in Fareeha’s face. Angela found it foreign, something she was unsure if she had ever even seen before. She told her lover as much a few times. Fareeha reassured her, as always. It was only when the two were on good terms again that Angela realized what it was that she couldn’t understand.

The bond between a mother and her daughter. It was bond that she had never gotten to experience, and a bond that she did not want to take away from.

But Angela loved Fareeha, that much she was sure of beyond a shadow of a doubt. She loved the curve of Fareeha’s lip whenever she made a bad joke, the sparkle in her dark eyes one could pinpoint whenever she even thought of one. She loved her overwhelming desire to do good, and her dedication to the team she called family. She loved the way Fareeha would murmur sweet nothings in Arabic to her in the early hours of the morning, and she loved the intensity in the Egyptian’s voice when she told her she’d stay by her side forever.

There was a reason she had prepared for this visit, pacing around her room for hours while trying to think of the right words. Additionally, there was a reason she had insisted Fareeha let her book an expensive dinner date that night to mark their second year together. Angela wanted to marry her.

She nearly jumped when Ana leaned across the table, snapping fingers in front of her to get her attention. Angela knew she needed to start talking before she lost her nerve completely. “A lot of things have changed since you disappeared, Ana,” she began, more cautious about her wording than she had ever been before.

Ana scoffed, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair once more. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Seems like as soon as Mama Bear leaves, everything goes to hell, hm?” A wry smile followed, but Angela knew there was a bit of sadness behind her words. She pressed on.

“One thing that’s changed is, ah, a bit more personal than the rest.”

The elderly woman raised an eyebrow at her hesitation, giving a slow nod to encourage her to continue. When Angela paused to gather her thoughts, she responded with a sigh of exasperation. “Come on, child. We’re both good friends here. No sense in beating around the bush.”

Her resolve was crumbling the more she spoke. With every word spoken she dreaded the next, fear filling her at the thought of asking the one question that mattered most to her. She spurred herself on with thoughts of Fareeha, thoughts of slipping on a ring, thoughts of removing a veil, thoughts of cradling a child in her arms. It worked. “I want to ask Fareeha to marry me!”

A pause. Though she hadn’t realized it, Angela had scrunched her eyes shut as she shouted her confession, afraid to face the Egyptian’s hawk-like gaze. She dared to open one of them, peering across the table at Ana, who was…laughing?

The older woman was grinning wildly at her, as if there was something that she was missing. Chuckles spilled from her lips uncontrollably, and she had to take control of her breathing once more to get her next few words out. “Angela, you are, without a doubt, one of the densest people I know.”

Another pause. “Ah…excuse me…?”

“You are also _the_ kindest, smartest, and most loving person I know.”

Angela couldn’t help but stare at her dumbly, brow creased in complete confusion. How could she not be the least bit angry with her? They had hidden their relationship from her for months. Fareeha had technically kept it hidden for years, to be completely honest. There was no way that she could just take it all in stride unless she…

….oh. _Oh_.

The realization was apparent on her face, judging by the way that Ana gave that lopsided Amari grin of hers and shook her head. “What, you think I’m some old hag who doesn’t know how to spot a lovestruck fool when I see one? I’ll have you remember I was around to watch Gabe and Jack try to hide stuff like that for months. Years, even!”

Angela was speechless, sputtering in her disbelief. All this time they had been worried about keeping themselves under wraps, even going so far as to keep the other members on base quiet on the subject. Had they been too careless and let something slip? She finally found her words, however stupid they may have sounded. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

A cackle met her ears in response. As always, Ana was having far too much fun with her teasing. Not a thing had changed over seven years, that much was assured. “Of course not. I knew Fareeha was in good hands, and I suspected the two of you would come to me when you were ready.” The Egyptian took a sip of her tea, gesturing in Angela’s direction with the near-empty cup. “What I _didn’t_ expect was you being so old-fashioned, Angela. Asking for a mother’s blessing?”

By that point, Angela was sure her face was flushed with pure embarrassment. She was immensely grateful for the fact that Ana seemed to approve without even answering the question, but not so much for the ridicule. “It’s not old-fashioned! It’s just respectful!” she insisted, though she knew her protests were lost on the grinning old woman.

“If it’s my blessing you want, you had that from the moment I knew you two were together. I don’t mean to get you too sentimental before your big date, but…” Ana fell silent for a moment, setting down her cup and placing both hands on the table. She didn’t meet Angela’s gaze for a few moments, and there was no mistaking the look on her face. It was the same one Fareeha bore whenever she was choosing her words, calculating each phrase carefully before even daring to speak.  "In a funny little way, I’ve always thought of you as my own, Angela. You walked through the door of headquarters on your first day so bright-eyed I was sure you’d be done within a week. But you’ve held on. You never lost your resolve. You’ve been with Overwatch through hell and back, and you even helped to bring it out of the grave again. You’re one hell of a woman. It’s almost as if you’ve already got Amari blood in you.“ The corner of her lips turned up once more. "You’ll be perfect for her, and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Angela felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she couldn’t quite place. Tears pricked at her eyes, but the only thing on her face was as big a smile as she had ever been able to manage. 

The bond between a mother and her daughter. 

“It’s Fareeha that you’ll have to ask, though,” Ana reminded the doctor, taking her tea once more and downing the last of it in a few gulps. Her golden eyes suddenly lit up, as if something had just come to mind. “Shouldn’t be hard. She’s been enamored with you since you two were just kids.”

Angela gave a sheepish laugh, waving off the older woman’s suggestion before wiping at her eyes. “Alright, Ana, enough with the teasing. I think you’ve gotten me riled up quite enough.”

“On the contrary, dear, I’m dead serious. Ask Fareeha about how long she used to chatter on and on about her _malak haris_ , her guardian angel. She’ll go red in the face within seconds.”

“You’re kidding me-”

“Oh, there you are.”

For the second time that evening, Angela nearly thought she’d have a heart attack as the familiar voice interrupted their conversation. Ana wore a knowing smile as she turned to face her daughter, raising her tea cup to give it a playful shake. “You’re missing out, _habibti_! We were just discussing some juicy childhood memories of yours!”

“Mother, I swear, if you pulled Ang- ah, Dr. Ziegler all the way to your quarters to talk about my…” The taller Amari trailed off, her threat useless in the face of Ana’s unwavering amusement.

“And what exactly do you need Dr. Ziegler for, Fareeha?” The Raptora pilot paled at the question, looking from her mother to Angela like a deer caught in the headlights. The doctor had to bite back a giggle at her helplessness; for someone notorious for repressing emotions, she was always flustered much too easily. It was an endearing quality, to say the least. Though it would have been entertaining to try and watch her explain herself, Angela took pity on her girlfriend. After all, _she_ was now the one completely in the dark about things.

Angela stood, nodding her thanks for more than just the tea at Ana. “Fareeha had a bit of a collision on the training course last week, Captain. Nothing to worry about, but she’s due for a routine check-up." 

"Ah, that’s…that’s right! Thank you, Doctor.” The pink tinge to Fareeha’s cheeks faded as the blonde came to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. The younger Amari glanced down at her partner, and suddenly it made sense that Ana had seen their relationship early on. Had Fareeha always looked at her that way? The looks they shared in private were one thing, but she couldn’t believe she had just then noticed the amount of pure affection in even so much as a a fleeting gaze.

It was absolutely captivating.

Ana, astute as ever, noticed this as well. A devious grin crossed her face momentarily, fading back to a much more tame expression when Fareeha turned back to look at her mother once more. “I figured as much. Reckless as ever. You give the good doctor any more trouble and you’ll never hear the end of it, do you understand?”

"Mother, I’m thirty-four.”

“And I’m on the wrong side of fifty and could still give you a run for your money, _habibti_.” Ana smirked at her daughter, who gave an annoyed huff in return. She gave a mock salute. Even disgruntled, Fareeha responded with one of her own. Angela couldn’t help but grin at their antics, and she now felt a rising warmth in her chest for both mother and daughter.

_A family. This is what it feels like._

Angela refused to cry again. She didn’t need Fareeha worrying and doting over her right before the big date. “Thank you for the tea, Ana. We can catch up on things later, I promise.” The former captain nodded back at her, and she gently pushed Fareeha in the direction of the door.

Just as the two passed out of Ana’s sight, the older Amari gave a warm smile of her own, mouthing what was unmistakably the phrase, “Nice ring?”

Angela rolled her eyes as she took Fareeha’s hand in hers. She couldn’t have asked for a better mother.


	5. Private Work Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to Overwatch regulation 42-5.1, “While fraternization is allowed within the ranks, relationships of a romantic nature are highly discouraged and can be cited as grounds for dismissal”. Unfortunately, a certain delirious soldier recovering from surgery can only recall one thing, and it sure as hell isn’t the Overwatch regulations book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fareeha “Stick-in-the-Mud” Amari turns into an embarrassing mess under the influence of painkillers and Angela has to deal with the consequences. By far my favorite prompt of the week to write.

Four hours. Four consecutive hours of surgery. While it wasn’t the longest operation of Angela’s life by far, it still took its toll. She cursed her patient aloud for her tight-lipped nature, removing her gloves, cap and mask before shedding her gown in order to strip down to her scrubs. All items were unceremoniously scattered across the floor before Angela collapsed into the chair beside the hospital bed.

Fareeha would definitely have to pay her back for the mess they were in, that much was certain.

Fareeha was always one to minimize an injury, whether it was an infected gash or a grade 3 concussion. One would have thought being in a committed relationship with a doctor and combat medic for nine months would have caused her to change her ways, but Angela found no such luck. 

It was customary for every agent returning from a mission to be reviewed in the med bay, even for the slightest of injuries. Two weeks earlier, Fareeha had gotten back from a short assignment in South Korea with dented and scorched armor. She had refused to see Angela at the time, insisting that she was in top shape and needed to look at her Raptora before anything else.

Two weeks later, Angela had seen through her ruse.

It wasn’t very hard to do so, considering the two were almost inseparable. They were as secretive about their relationship as possible in order to avoid breaching the infamous “Frat Trap” regulations of Overwatch, but that didn’t mean they didn’t come dangerously close with the amount of time they spent together. As such, when two people sleep in the same bed every night and one of them hisses in pain whenever they so much as bump their arm, the other catches on very quickly (especially if the other just so happens to be an orthopedic surgeon).

Angela had pressed, and for once in her life Fareeha had caved. She had broken the arm when a shot to one of her thrusters had sent her careening into the side of a building. Being the absolute _expert field medic_ that she was (all bitter sarcasm intended), she had made the decision to set it back in place herself and continue on in the skirmish. It hadn’t “bothered her” any time after that, and that was enough reason for Fareeha to skip the doctor’s prognosis and continue on with her life.

She had officially learned her lesson when she told Angela the arm was completely fine, demonstrated a textbook right-handed strike on a nearby punching bag, and promptly fainted on the spot.

After a doctor’s visit accompanied by the scolding of a lifetime, Angela had determined that the arm had been set incorrectly and healed improperly. The last thing Fareeha wanted was surgery, but due to the fact that she was solely at fault for the entire situation she had readily agreed. After consulting Morrison and the rest of command on the matter, they had agreed that the procedure was of the utmost importance and excused her from the upcoming missions.

The surgery itself was difficult, but nothing new aside from the fact that Angela just so happened to be operating on her very own partner. Back in medical school, she could remember the countless lectures her professors would give on how physicians should never treat loved ones. Unfortunately, according to the “Frat Trap” regulations, Fareeha Amari didn’t count, and Angela was the only medic on staff in Gibraltar that was capable of performing such an operation. She had done her best to block out her lover’s face, focusing only on the bones and the bars and the cuts of the invasive procedure, but there were more than a few times when she had to take a moment to remember to breathe. Every incision was one she couldn’t take back, one she’d think and rethink and rethink again before continuing. None the less, the prodigy Angela Ziegler had completed her operation without error.

The low moan that interrupted Angela’s thoughts indicated that the anesthesia was slowly beginning to wear off. The blonde stood once more, her own knees a bit wobbly as she leaned over the waking patient. “How are you feeling, _spätzli_?” she murmured, gently drawing the Egyptian’s hair out of her eyes.

Fareeha looked completely and utterly confused as she glanced between Angela and the cast on her arm. It was to be expected; she had been given a fairly heavy dose of general anesthesia and would likely remain in a daze for at least half an hour. Another groan passed by her lips as she tried to move the re-broken arm, only to hiss in pain.

“Don’t move, you idiot. You’re not going to be using that arm for a while,” the doctor advised her, though she knew the words of caution were useless on her girlfriend in this state. Fareeha glanced up at her once more, squinting at the Swiss as if there was something missing.

“Where…uh, where do you hide your wings?”

Angela quirked an eyebrow at the dazed soldier, and it was her turn to be confused. A dumb grin crossed Fareeha’s face, and she continued, “Get it? ‘Cause you’re…'cause you’re an angel.”

The doctor resisted the urge to groan herself at the awful pick-up line. She had seen the entire spectrum of people’s reactions to anesthesia, but she had never imagined Fareeha would be one of _those_. Angela shook her head, turning away from the delirious Egyptian and pulling up the x-rays she had taken before the operation on her laptop. “I’m not talking to you if you keep that up, Fareeha,” she warned halfheartedly, though she’d be lying if she said she _completely_ disliked the excessive affection. It was a bit endearing compared to the stuttering, sputtering mess Fareeha normally became when trying to be romantic.

“Angie, are you a magician? 'Cause whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

As corny as Fareeha was being, Angela couldn’t help the way her lips upturned at the line. When she glanced over her shoulder at her, the patient’s dark eyes lit up and she gave and uncharacteristically giddy laugh.

“Did the sun come out, or did you just smile at me?” Angela rolled her eyes. Okay, she had walked straight into that one

The doctor shut the lid on her laptop and made her way back over to the bedside, leaning on the railing as Fareeha beamed up at her. She used her good arm to reach upwards, fingertips brushing against Angela’s face as if she still wasn’t quite conscious enough for a proper caress. “Doc, I don’t think I’m gonna make it through. Think I’m…Think I’m gonna need some mouth to mouth." 

Angela rolled her eyes at her girlfriend’s theatrics, leaning over to kiss her gently on the forehead. "You don’t need CPR, you need to stop moving around so much,” she chided softly, though she couldn’t deny the fact that the enjoyed the way Fareeha had begun absentmindedly running her fingers across the back of her neck. Standing in the med bay post-operation, however, was most certainly not the time nor the place.

Fareeha did her best to look as seductive as possible, but ultimately failed. When she saw that she was being laughed at, the Egyptian pouted, tugging at the collar of Angela’s scrubs to try and pull her down to her level once more. “These lips aren’t…my lips can’t…uh, kiss themselves,” she insisted, moving to sit up so she could reach her lover.

Angela immediately forced her back down with a firm push on the shoulder. “Will you _stop that_? You’ve just been through a four hour surgery, for God’s sake.” Fareeha whined back at her (literally _whined_ , the big sap), almost looking like she was about to cry if she didn’t get her way. Weighing her options in the wake of what was almost puppy-dog eyes from her dolt of a partner, Angela sighed in compliance and leaned down to gently press her lips against Fareeha’s.

Of course it would be the moment when the doctor was lip-locked with her patient that the sliding doors to the med bay flew open.

Angela jumped at the sound, immediately distancing herself from Fareeha and ignoring the Egyptian’s slurred noises of protest. Fortunately, the pair standing at the door had been in deep conversation and hadn’t noticed the complete breach of professionalism that had just taken place. Unfortunately, the two people coming to visit the anesthesia-ridden Fareeha were none other than Ana Amari and Jack Morrison.

She could practically feel herself paling as the two strode inside, Jack as stoic as ever and Ana brandishing a smile. “How’d it go?” the former strike commander asked, rocking up onto the balls of his feet so he could peer over Angela’s shoulder at the patient in question.

“Everything went smoothly. She should be able to take the cast off in about two to three weeks. If she follows instructions and doesn’t re-injure herself, my nanobots can have her back in the field in six.”

This warranted an amused snort from Ana for reasons Angela feared they both knew all too well. “You’re going to ask Fareeha to sit on her ass for more than two days without training?” she challenged, though the doctor knew it was all in good fun. 

“I’m going to _make her_ sit on her ass, Ana,” Angela countered, prompting an impressed nod of satisfaction from her lover’s mother. She was sure that, with enough close supervision, even Fareeha could somehow manage to keep herself restrained…or so she hoped. “Right now the anesthesia is wearing off. It’s had some rather…odd effects, though.”

As if on cue, Fareeha tried for the third time to move her arm and received immediate feedback from it. The soldier groaned and threw her head back on the pillow, muttering something under her breath in Arabic phrases Angela very well recognized as curses. Jack raised an eyebrow. Ana laughed. As if neither of them were even there, Fareeha reached up to tug on the bottom of her girlfriend’s shirt in order to get her attention. “Doc, do you have a band-aid? Think I…I scraped my knee when I was falling for y-”

“You fractured your arm in multiple places in a three-story fall after getting shot out of the sky, Fareeha. Please, hush.” Angela delivered the line as pointedly as she could, knowing it was mostly futile but hoping the Egyptian would catch on anyways. The last thing they needed was two key figures of Overwatch command figuring out that the two were blatantly ignoring regulations all because a rambling Fareeha dropped one too many a bad pick-up line.

Ana gave a long whistle of amusement at her own daughter’s antics, thankfully not putting together the clues as to what Fareeha had been about to say. Jack, on the other hand, suddenly seemed highly concerned. “How much stuff did you pump her up with, Ziegler?” He didn’t particularly sound irritated, but it was obvious the sight of one of his most exemplary soldiers in such a state was unnerving.

Angela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration as Fareeha continued to pull at her scrubs in different places. “I gave her a good bit of general anesthesia. I had to make sure she was kept under for the entire procedure. She should be fine within the next half hour or so.” Noting the uneasiness in the old man’s gaze, she decided to leave out the details of the heavy painkillers she was most certainly going to prescribe for the coming weeks.

“I say good for you. That girl needs to loosen up a bit,” Ana joked, earning a look of disbelief from Jack. She shrugged, and it was apparent they still had very differing opinions on seeing Fareeha in combat. 

“As long as she’s stable, I can deal with a bit of loopiness for a while,” the former strike commander conceded at last.

“Trust me, I’ll have her back in top shape before you even realize she’s gone.” A bit of a fib, but Jack liked hearing such things. It was evident by the way his lip curved ever so slightly upwards as both founding members vocalized their thanks to the doctor.

Apparently deciding going a full five minutes without talking was far too long, Fareeha gave her much-needed input to the conversation. “Angie, are you a tortilla? 'Cause I want to flip you over and eat y–”

Angela straightened, immediately turning and slapping a hand over the Egyptian’s mouth before she could say any more. She had no doubt that her face was now completely flushed, and she heard Jack clear his throat pointedly behind her.

“Ziegler, is everything…?”

“Just checking her temperature,” Angela lied with a nervous laugh, promptly moving her hand from Fareeha’s mouth to her forehead. She glared at the grinning Egyptian, flicking her on the ear in order to get her irritation across. Fareeha flinched slightly, but her smile didn’t fade one bit.

“Annnnnngie, Angie! I’ve got one, I’ve got it. You’re gonna–just listen, you’re gonna–” Thankfully, she fell into a fit of giggles before she could even finish her sentence. Jack frowned at the soldier, but Ana still seemed quite amused. Just when Angela thought they were safe, she had to go and say it. “You know why they call me the cat whisperer? 'Cause I know exactly what the p–”

“Alright, then!” For the first time in a while, Angela shouted at the absolute top of her lungs, praying that she could block out the crass line that she knew was coming. The doctor grabbed Ana’s arm in one hand and Jack’s in the other, hauling them towards the door where a wide-eyed Lena was now waiting, watching. There was no other way to defuse the situation while Fareeha was still not in her right mind. For the sake of Frat Trap and her partner’s big mouth, she _had_ to get them out. “Thank you for coming to see her, but right now Fareeha is very confused. You’ll have to come back later, when she’s calmed down.”

Both Ana and Jack immediately protested, but she didn’t even wait to hear them before shoving the pair into the hallway and hastily slamming a fist on the lock controls. A long silence passed after the doors hissed shut, and Angela wondered if Fareeha had finally realized the severity of the situation. The physician slowly made her way back over to the bed, where her partner stared up at her with raised brows.

“Are you quite finished, _spätzli_?”

“I…have a question.”

She knew she was going to regret even asking. “What is it, you moron?”

“What time do you get off?” Fareeha wore a shit-eating grin, and Angela groaned aloud at the line that was sure to follow. “And can I watch?”  
  
  
  
Needless to say, the clear-headed and absolutely mortified Fareeha Amari that emerged thirty minutes later would never, ever live any of it down.


	6. Closeness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on Day 6 I had promised myself that I was going to take a break and then at 2AM about 1,000 words suddenly appeared.

She was always, always far too close.

Fareeha Amari joined Overwatch. Eight years of service in the Egyptian military and six years employment at Helix Security had hardened her to a point beyond recognition. She was an adult--a disillusioned, PTSD-ridden, emotionally--detached, and generally just messed up adult. Her stories were told in the scars across her back and the screams she bit back in the dark of night. Her identity laid within her rank, last name, and the tattoo beneath her left eye. She was Captain Amari, a woman decades away from the child that had ran through the halls of countless watchpoints yelling about justice.

Angela Ziegler had taken only one look at her before taking her into a tight embrace. “Welcome home, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari failed her first mission. Fourteen years of experience did nothing in the absolute chaos of the fight, and the payload disappeared right from underneath their noses. Out of practice, Winston said. The team needs to learn to mesh together, Winston said. She didn’t snap back at him that the team not learning was going to cost lives. She didn’t snap back at him that she didn’t want to lose anyone else she held close. Instead, she took to fixing her suit, rewiring frayed ends and replacing torn plates. Hours and hours facing a machine instead of her problems, just like always. She was Pharah, a soldier working with people who were going to get their charges killed, of people who were going to get _themselves_ killed.

Angela Ziegler had placed a hand on her shoulder that night, the only member to notice her absence. “Make sure you eat and take care of yourself, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari got shot out of the sky. A sniper bullet found its way into an old physical wound on her shoulder and an old psychological wound on her conscience. Snipers had been a menace on the battlefields of the Middle East, but were uncommon during her time at Helix. Carelessness, a rusty and rookie mistake. Ana Amari was a sharpshooter with the eye of a hawk, and her daughter with the wings of falcon had been sniped out of her own domain. The dog tags she wore brandishing names and ranks of Amaris long passed had been traded for a hospital bracelet bound entirely too tightly to her wrist. She was AMARI, F., a patient in a medical bay stripped of her duty for weeks and weeks that never seemed to end.

Angela Ziegler had laced their fingers together without a second thought. “You’ll be back before you know it, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari wrestled with nightmares. Screams, yells, explosions. Mothers, friends, fatalities. They all came in the quietest hours, and one night she could suppress them no longer. A trip to the bathroom turned into a firefight in the desert. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, her lungs seemed to forget their very function. Every memory scarred over cracked open, and as hard as she tried to keep herself grounded she couldn’t hold back eight years of hell. She was Lieutenant Amari, an officer of just twenty-one screaming as her squad fell one by one before her in the empty hallway of Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

Angela Zielger had put a hand on either side of her face, breathing steadily to create a rhythm for her friend to follow. “You can get through this, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari got completely and totally smashed. Victory was a hell of a drug, but alcohol was stronger. The fifth “mystery drink” concocted was a prize for a German of 7'4" and a punishment for an Egyptian of 5'11". She had never before blacked out under enjoyable circumstances, and as such she should have known she would do something stupid. Evidence on Hana’s phone depicted her in several positions trying unsuccessfully to woo a much less intoxicated doctor. She was Fareeha “that jackass who passes out drunk on the bar” Amari, a hungover soldier babbling wisps of unintentional compliments weaved in between mortified apologies.

Angela Ziegler had offered a gentle peck on the cheek to quiet her. “All you had to do was ask me out sober, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari asked her girlfriend to marry her. Everyone told her a year of dating was too long in wartime, that she needed to get her ass in gear. One turned to two. Two turned to three. Three turned to a ring, brandished with a traditional kneel on one of their rooftop escapades. The doctor cried. The Overwatch agents hiding by the doorway cheered. The soldier thought she was going to have a heart attack. She was Fareeha Amari, a woman so in love with her partner that she would user her wings to bring the very heavens down to earth for her if she asked.

Angela Ziegler had taken her into a back-breaking hug and wet her shoulder with tears. “I thought you’d never ask, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari met her fiancée at the altar. A fussy mother fixed her beret and pinned on her medals. A proud old soldier brought her future wife down the aisle. Tears were shed when she lifted the veil and revealed the most gorgeous smile she had ever seen, the most loving eyes, the most beautiful angel. She was Fareeha Amari-Ziegler, a woman who was centuries away from a time before knowing and loving her soul mate.

Angela Ziegler had kissed her on the lips before the vows were even finished. “I do, Fareeha.”

Fareeha Amari left Overwatch. Twenty-three years of membership in the peace-keeping force and twenty years with her wife brought her to a state she never thought she could reach. Her stories were told in the barside chats with her old teammates and the sessions she had with the young soldiers she met at the clinic. Her identity laid within her family, her friends, and the tattoo beneath her left eye. She was Fareeha, _ya amar_ , _liebing_ , _Ummi_ , a woman who was a millennium away from where she had started.

Angela Ziegler had been on her arm every step of the way. “ _Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens_ , Fareeha.”

She was always, always far too close, and for that reason Fareeha couldn’t have been more grateful.


	7. Alternate Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A circus AU, basically. Largely inspired by a couple of drawings I saw with Lena as a magician and Fareeha as a hoop aerialist. Will most likely turn into a multi-chapter soon because I'm way more invested in this AU than I had originally thought.

“I want to learn part of your act.”

The blonde acrobat’s request was met with a blank look in response. Panic quickly set in. Had she offended her? Had she impressed her? Had she embarrassed her? It was impossible to tell with the way the woman before her just…stared.

It had been about four months since Fareeha Amari, daughter of the famed Russian bar acrobat Ana Amari, had joined the Overwatch Troupe. Rumor had it that the reason she been accepted so late, nearly a year after notable newcomers such as the magician Lena Oxton and the fire dancer Hanzo Shimada, was due to the fact that her own mother had vehemently disapproved. Ana had only shared details about Fareeha on a need-to-know basis. The troupe had never even so much as laid eyes on her until her first day of work. Ana had tried her hardest to put distance between her profession and her daughter, and yet Fareeha was still undeniably far too much like her mother.

The Amari athletic prowess was trademark. In her golden years, Ana had been a gymnast that could give any Olympian a run for their money. As soon as her child had taken to the aerial straps during her trial peroid, the troupe had realized that Fareeha was no different. Both Amaris, mother and daughter, had a way of cutting through the air with an unmistakable intensity, striking every pose and sticking every landing. It was almost as if the tenacity itself was genetic, their styles of movement matching perfectly despite their differing specialties.

 _And speaking of genetics…_ As embarrassed as it made her, Angela couldn’t help the thought that came to mind as she looked her fellow acrobat up and down. It seemed as if every muscle in the Egyptian’s body was pulled taut as she held the aerial pose, legs wrapped in the silk in ways the Swiss couldn’t remotely imagine as comfortable and hands gripping the material firmly. As if taking time to decide what to say on the matter, Fareeha did a neat front-flip to complete her practice routine, never once letting her thighs lose contact with the silk. She ended upside down, her face only inches away from the blonde. Angela felt her heart skip a beat as dark eyes met her own, the udjat tattoo on her right cheek crinkling slightly as she squinted in contemplation.

Angela had been flirting with Fareeha for months, whether the latter of the two realized it or not. Sometimes the younger Amari would reciprocate, and she would feel a burst of confidence before running off to inform her performance partner Genji Shimada of the new development. Other times, it seemed to go right over the Egyptian’s head.

Unfortunately, the latter situation took place in that moment.

Fareeha slowly untangled herself from her silks with ease, never once taking her gaze off of the other woman. Angela’s heart pounded with the nervousness of a teenager asking out a high school crush. She was not unexperienced in love at all, but _God_ the way Fareeha Amari made her feel sometimes…

“Why would you want to do that?” The aerialist in question finally spoke, brow quirking in a certain way that made Angela wonder if she knew what she was doing to her. If she did, she must’ve been sadistic. 

“I enjoy watching you perform. It’s like you’re a bird or a falcon or…something. Like you’re made for the air.” Not a complete lie. Angela _did_ greatly admire Fareeha’s act. As a matter of fact, everyone did. Her debut performance earned gaping mouths from nearly all of the troupe that watched. The audience had been absolutely captivated, and even Ana had seemed to radiate a strange, disgruntled sort of pride. 

The aerialist acknowledged the compliment with a short nod, her lip twitching slightly as if she was holding something back. “You’re not so bad yourself, Angela. The way you wrap yourself around Shimada, someone would think the two of you are made for each other.”

A groan, more of a reflex at this point, immediately left Angela’s lips. _Everyone_ said that, even those who knew all too well it wasn’t true. She realized what the intimacy of their acrobalance looked like to anyone outside of the act itself, but she hated having to explain how wrong they were. “Oh, please don’t even start. Genji and I are performers first. I love him dearly, but certainly not in a romantic way.” Short, sweet, to the point. She didn’t even mention the fact that he was currently pining over the newest juggler, or the fact that she was helping him along. She also conveniently omitted the fact that Genji was the very person who had advised her to approach Fareeha in such a way. All of that was too long of a story to explain in its entirety.

Fareeha cocked her head to the side, processing this information in silence. She twirled one of her silks in one hand, rubbing her chin with the other as if she was in deep thought. “So you want to wrap yourself around me instead, then?”

 _Did she…? Did she just…?_ Angela couldn’t even help the flush that covered her face, unintelligable noises spilling over her lips as she tried to respond. Fareeha saved her from saying something stupid with a laugh, waving her hand to dismiss the question entirely. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ll teach you a little bit, one performer to another.”

From one performer to another. Yes, because that was exactly what she wanted. Angela resisted the urge to grit her teeth as her heartbeat finally slowed to normal. How in God’s name could Fareeha Amari be so sly and so _dense_ at the same time? She gave a pleased nod, trying her best to push back any signs of her previous embarrassment. _Be professional, Angela. Be smooth_.

From one performer to another, right?

Fareeha gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before promptly raising herself onto the silks once more. Her movements were seamless, practiced, effortless. Angela had been told the same about her own acrobatic skills, but seeing another’s was something else. She climbed the two strands with ease, the lower part of her body barely moving an inch as she put one hand above the other and hauled herself upwards. When she had found an acceptable height, the aeralist began to twist and turn until her legs and back became tangled in the silk once more. With an effortless motion, she flipped her position, the beaded strands of hair she kept separate from her tiny ponytail falling into her face as she began to hang upside down. Angela almost ruined herself by staring too long, only being snapped out of her daze by Fareeha’s extended hand.

“Up you go." 

Angela blinked in confusion. ” _With_ you?“ A stupid question, but she indeed found herself stupefied. She had assumed that Fareeha would teach her one on one, not in the form of a duet. Angela had seen aerial silk duets, and they were much too intimate for what she had in mind.

Fareeha nodded, not seeming phased at all by her surprise. "Of course. You’ve got to learn about the feel of the silk first. The best way to do that is with someone supporting you.”

“Not from the ground?”

“Not from the ground.”

Angela swallowed thickly, but she knew there was no backing out. She had gotten herself into this, and she would make it out better than before. The blonde grasped the two strands of silk tightly between her fingers, climbing up to reach Fareeha’s height far too clumsily for her own taste. There had been a time where she had been truly interested in exploring aerials, but that had been a long time ago. She was out of practice, that much was sure.

When offered them, Fareeha took her wrists tightly in her grip. Angela let her weight hang at last, her stomach lurching slightly as they swayed aimlessly back and forth for some time. Looking up into the Egyptian’s stare did little to help her restless gut. It almost seemed to make it worse, especially when the ghost of an approving smile appeared on her lips.

“Good. Now for the hard part. You know how you swing your legs onto Shimada’s shoulders during your dance? I want you to try the same thing and wrap your legs around my sides.” Trying her best to put aside the fact that Fareeha had apparently paid close attention to her performances with Genji,  Angela gave short nod. A few gentle swings gave her enough momentum to bring her legs nearly to her nose before she straightened her body and leaned into Fareeha’s body. She closed her leg around her partner’s abdomen and clung for dear life when their hands broke apart.

“I hope you realize I’m used to doing this on the ground, Fareeha.” She braved the use of the Amari’s first name as two palns planted themselves on the small of her back and propelled her upwards. Angela took a sharp breath of surprise as she found herself upright once more, legs wrapped around her partner’s waist and hands now desperately clinging to the unoccupied silk above them both.

“I won’t let you fall, Angie. I promise.” If that was meant to still her quivering chest, it most certainly didn’t. “Try to see if you can put your legs on top of mine and let yourself lean back. I’m right down here if anything happens.”

“You’ve been hanging around Jesse far too much, I can already tell. Not many people call me Ang–ah!” Her words erupted into a shriek an attempt at the movement turned into the weightlessness of a free-fall, only to be stopped as her back collided with her fellow performer’s chest with a dull thud.

Fareeha gave a muffled curse as the blonde’s head impacted with what was most certainly her nose, but didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Angela’s waist to stop her fall. “Legs up. Put them behind the silk. Behind mine.” It was obvious the aerialist tried her best to seem nonchalant about it, but the way her entire body shook trying to keep the blonde’s weight from careening forward said otherwise.

Angela quickly followed her instructions, hastily thrusting her own ankles into the silk just above Fareeha’s own. It was only when the pair felt stable again that it truly dawned on her how close they were to each other. Even with Angela’s legs hooked in place, the dark-haired woman kept her arms locked firmly around her midsection, hands drifting dangerously close to the waistline of the blonde’s leggings. She could feel Fareeha’s breath on her ear with every exhalation, the Egyptian’s chin nestled conveniently in the crook of her shoulder. A nervous chuckle resonated against Angela’s back as she pressed even closer and shifted her hips against the smaller woman’s own.

Oh, she _had_ to know what she was doing. Angela couldn’t help but squirm, causing her partner to loosen her grip just enough for the Swiss acrobat to slip through.

Cursing in Arabic, Fareeha managed to snatch Angela’s forearm just as it dropped into range. She offered her other hand to her partner, giving a bit of a rattled laugh only when she was sure they were steady again. “For an acrobat of your caliber, you sure are clumsy as hell in the air.” And then, Fareeha Amari _smirked_ at her.

Angela was usually a very, very patient woman. Slow to anger and slow to impulsive action, she always thought before she moved. All that was thrown out the window at once at that damned smirk. It was entirely too cocky, entirely too sly, and entirely too attractive. It was the maddening peak of a mountain of blatantly suggestive actions. Fingers practically digging into Fareeha’s forearms, she pulled herself upwards with a quick jerk. Their lips crashed together momentarily before the Egyptian completely lost her hold.

A startled yelp from Angela was cut short as fingers curled around her wrists once and hauled upwards. She glanced up at Fareeha, whose skin was now flushed all to hell. Eyes wide, the Egyptian tried her best to form sentences in a strange reversal of roles. Angela had completely and utterly flustered her. “You just…kissed me?” A question, almost as if she couldn’t believed what had happened.

Now it was Angela’s turn to quirk an eyebrow at her partner. “Fareeha, you’ve been flirting with me this whole time. What did you expect to happen?”

“I wasn’t– I didn’t, ah, I thought…I thought we were just practicing. I didn’t know I was…damn, was I really–?”

A blink of alarm. “Is…that not what you wanted?”

“No!” The reply came so immediately and so intensely that Fareeha seemed to have even surprised herself. “I didn’t think that you were, uh, _that_ type. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Embarrassment burned hot on the Egyptian’s cheeks and she could only meet amused blue eyes with shy and fleeting glances. It was strangely endearing to watch, but Angela kept her cool as best she could.

There was a silence filled with unimaginable tension that passed before the aerialist spoke up once more. “Can we try that again?”

“If my feet touch the floor, I’m leaving.” A challenge, Angela’s own smug confidence taking over now that feelings had finally been voiced.

The smallest hints of that smirk that drove her mad crossed Fareeha’s face once more. “If that’s the case, I could do this all day.”


End file.
